nullifidian agnostics
by Aliathe
Summary: A soul called, so desperately lonely, so defiantly longing, so deathly loyal, that it is answered, if only for one (after)life. [arrancar!twins] [dreaming of sunshine/bleach crossover] [shikako-and-shikamaru-replace-starrk-and-lilynette] [dead!fic]
1. Uma

**Disclaimer:**

 _I don't own Dreaming of Sunshine, Naruto, or Bleach._

* * *

 **Index:**

 **Introduction**

.

.

.

Lonely, so lonely, so desperately alone.

It, for souls have no gender, no need of such labels and limitations, calls out.

Calls out for...?

Something it can't remember but wants (needs), wants with terrible and aching fervor.

The call reaches, reaches, reaching across/through/over/past the strange and indescribable currents that only wiped souls and The Others can read, drifting there in that in-between zone, waiting to fall/cross/vanish/float to... to...

(It's different for everyone, or maybe it's the same and they all just have different perceptions, different memories, from different souls all wiped clean and ready.)

Perhaps it is a short moment or a very long time, but the call keeps reaching and reaching, for what do souls know of 'time'?

The one it is calling to does not hear, does not answer.

An Other does, instead.

That Other plucks up the call and feels the unwavering strength and character and determination of that calling soul for the soul which is not it's other half, but is close enough to count, anyway.

 _("You would face a god?"_

 _"Yes. Give me back my sister.")_

The Other chuckles, a rippling vague _motion-thought-concept_.

How amusing.

Feeling pity, or possibly mischief, The Other sets down the call and reaches itself, easily overriding the metaphysical protocols wrapped around the called soul through sheer power, and pushes it towards the calling soul.

The Other watches as the two souls touch and warp, instinctively entwining even then, before flickering out of the in-between zone.

Ah.

Content with the knowledge that the called soul still has many cycles to go, that the protocols will reassert themselves after that existence, that surely the called soul deserves a happy rest even if it is one the called soul will not remember through the protocols, The Other returns to whatever the hazily collected consciousness of Others do.

.

.

.

Hunger, relentless hunger, this _gnawing twisting writhing **hollow**_ feeling is constantly scraping within them, chipping away the fast-fading half-remembered sensation slivers of _leaves_ and _tawny soft fur_ and _cold metal glinting_ and _curls of ink that will take off heads with ease_.

But that's okay, because they have the hunger and the one never-forgotten sensation of _togetherness_ that just feels so _right_ and _certain_ that somehow it makes their unalive undead existence more _right_ and _certain_ as well.

The hunger drives them on, yes, ( _goodness knows a [-] needs motivation, laughter and glassy clinks and the pearly gleam of an earring's hoop_ ), but it is the knowledge that they have each other and forever (for the given value of 'forever') will that lets them slow down and take in their situation.

After a couple ( _countless_ ) dozen _food-bone-blood-crunch- **broken-masks**_ devoured, the hunger still doesn't pass.

At least now they are conscious enough, self-aware enough, to _think_ more or less clearly and even control the urge, somewhat.

They are two souls meshed in one container, which works out surprisingly well.

They complete each other.

(Also, they don't have quite enough consciousness and self-awareness yet to separate into independent beings, which probably helps, too.)

Something stirs within them, tells them they need to eat more, eat more, eat even even _more_ before they can banish the annoyingly distracting hunger and properly _think_.

( _your best asset is your brain and cunning, our best asset is teamwork, [-]'s best asset is their will of [?], hard thin slats go click-clack, click-clack)_

That prospect is an attractive one.

 _._

 _._

 _._

Soon the other kinda-conscious and semi-self-aware beasts ( _hollowed hollow Hollows?_ ) strewn across the infinity of sand and blood and howling gritty winds begin murmuring about the oddly focused, oddly sane, oddly _smart_ beast moving about.

They murmur about peculiar patience, about uncanny intelligence, about off-beat amiability.

They murmur about moments of peaceability and moments of coin-flip bloodlust, or, no, not exactly bloodlust, more like a very intense mission to devour as many Hollows as possible.

They murmur about careful binges, planned purges, laid-out purposeful ambushes that actually work.

They murmur about a solitary Gillian with a deer-like mask and script scrawled all over it, who shows no difficulty in staying in control over the Hollows it devours, and easily traps and kills Adjuchas all by itself.

Then the inevitable happens, and now they murmur louder and louder about a freakishly clever and ruthless Adjuchas that roams Hueco Mundo and single-handedly eats about half of the Adjuchas population.

.

.

.

You can recognize it by it's slim, long-legged cervine form, entirely a bare, stark white, blending in perfectly with the sand of Hueco Mundo, save for the patterns of unreadable bastardized calligraphy that crawl over its rolling limbs in a motion that is hypnotic but dizzying to stare at for too long.

You can recognize it by it's blank, humanoid mask atop an all-fours body, blinking hugely liquid, doleful doe eyes under tar-colored strands from it's definite mane, conveying an endearingly pitiful expression at odds with it's wickedly sharp, gore-stained bone antlers, the tiny serrated fangs sticking out of it's closed mouth, and the claws sprouting out of what might have counted as hooves on a normal deer.

You can recognize it by it's swaying stalk, it's silent walk, and a dozen other identifying characteristics.

Explosions are it's visible mark, a warning and a calling-card; stealth is when the swift shadows slip out, unseen 'til it's too late, _stabbing slicing slashing._

Of course, by the time you recognize it, it knows you're there, and in all likelihood allowed you to get that close on purpose.

90% of the time, it lets you get close to save the effort of chasing you down for a meal.

10% of the time, it lets you get close to hear the latest news, and then lets you leave, mournful cervine gaze staring thoughtfully at your back like it's deciding if it regrets letting you go or not.

(The lucky 10% leave hastily, and with, of all things, a name:

 _Nara._

They suppose that even the most frightening and strange Adjuchas wants to be known by a name.)

.

.

.

Aran brings it up first, as they laid buried under the sands of Hueco Mundo, 'nesting' as they are wont to do, after discovering the trait of 'laziness.'

(Gender doesn't mean much to a Hollow, but as they slide into clearer and clearer control of themselves, for the sake of not receiving a headache from the two now sorta-independent consciousnesses, they separate into the more feminine consciousness of 'Aran' and the more masculine consciousness of 'Nara.')

"I like Hueco Mundo and all," she starts off, impressions of sand, warm and pure and blanketing, funneling down their shared connection.

Nara also gets an impression of blood-red hair and impassively roiling teal seas as well, of safety and this warmth _inside_ , like a watered-down feeling of what they constantly exchanged between them.

But she already knows that, because what's his is hers, and vice versa, so she dismisses it.

"But have you ever-"

"-considered slipping into the human world the other Hollows talk about?" he finishes, fishing the forming question out of her mind.

They reflect on that prospect together, thoughts criss-crossing over their mindscape borders with a natural fluidity.

They have no lack of sustenance here, and honestly really should hurry up and go out to hunt more Hollows to speed up their progress to this practically mythical but certainly possible 'next evolution,' proved possible by the certified existence of Vasto Lordes in Hueco Mundo.

Yet...

Nara thinks of new napping places, ones that aren't just the same variety on hard branches and smothering dunes, of air that you don't have to struggle at first to breathe in, of actually sleeping at night and knowing when it's day.

Aran thinks of glorious entertainment, ones that aren't just mental bickering and sketching out new ideas for attacking plans that nobody but Nara can fully appreciate, of books flipping under fingers she no longer has, of seeing progress in a place that isn't stagnant.

They both think of sunshine and cerulean and whiskers for some reason, but they discard it for being irrelevant.

"Sure," they say together, and curl inwards the best they can in their otherwise-graceful beastly form.

.

.

.

"This is the territory?"

"Yessir. The Vasto Lorde twins, sir."

"Hmm. Names, again?"

"Um... they call each other..."

.

.

.

Aizen strides forward over the fine silt underfoot, eyes only for the lounging duo on the towering dune above him.

"Shika and Kako," he greets them confidently.

They are two near-mirror images, both the appearance of rather androgynous human teenagers dressed in flowing buckskin robes, strategic holes cut open for the bone antlers sprouting from their shoulders.

Corpse-pale, barefoot, ears a little too pointed, nails a little too clawed, tattoo-like sigils of moving script traversing their revealed skin in a language he doesn't recognize: all these are signs that they _aren't_ rather androgynous human teenagers.

(He can't see their mask fragments which must be there; probably hidden under the robes, then, which brush their ankles and cuts off in ragged edges at the elbow.)

Shika's pitch-black hair is loose and shoulder-length, posture seemingly relaxed, body leanly muscled, watching him with boredom, and seems half-asleep on his shorter-by-five-inches twin's lap.

Kako is the exact same shape and build, just smaller, with a long, deathly-white braid slung over her shoulder, slender fingers threaded in her brother's inky strands, with a glint of something more motivated glimmering in her gaze.

They have the same eyes, too: hugely liquid cervine ones in all the shades of brown that, according to rumor, followed them through the Vasto Lorde ascension, and are the only splash of color in their appearance.

"I have an offer to make to you."

Reluctantly, Shika rises from his former position into a half-sitting one instead, drawing his hair up into a small, spiky ponytail with a white ribbon that Kako throws a teasingly affectionate look at.

The next moment, she's expressionless, staring deep at him with her head cocked and conveying a sense of acute fascination.

"We're listening," she tells him, still staring like he's a puzzle she can't wait to dig her claws into.

(It reminds him too much of himself.

[So it's a good thing he doesn't notice that Shika, despite his lidded eyes and unconcerned aura, is listening and watching just as intently.])

.

.

.

"... We accept, then."


	2. Rendu

**Disclaimer:**

 _I don't own Dreaming of Sunshine, Naruto, or Bleach._

* * *

 **Index:**

 **-Kuumon**

 **-Cleaning Up**

 **-Humanity**

 **-Underwater**

 **-Teasing**

 **-Taste Buds**

 **-Naming**

 **-Acceptance**

 **-Matching Inverse**

.

.

.

It takes very little time for them to figure out how to get to the human world, 'time' being used loosely in a place that basks in eternal moonlight.

When out on their next hunting trip, they cross a group of Gillian; after picking off a couple stragglers, thus successfully driving them into a closer, paranoid knot, Nara strikes out with a curl of shadow.

The most coherent-seeming Gillian is unwillingly dragged along, immobilized, as they turn tail and start sprinting away.

Nobody chases after, at first because they know only one Adjuchas with shadow powers, then because they're just so glad the explosion powers didn't come out.

Later, of course, it's because they're too busying getting blown sky-high by the firey blast exploding under their feet from the innocuous swirl of shadow left there by the curl.

Aran takes a metaphysical bow of pleased pride, and Nara rolls his mental eyes.

Then they ask the Gillian how to get to the human world.

The Gillian babbles out an explanation of Garganta and Kuumon, a skill they apparently skipped over in their Gillian-stage relentless pursuit of more prey, unlike the 'normal' Gillians who sometimes slipped into the human world for easy pickings when food was scarce and slim.

"See? Asking nicely can work," Aran points out to her more cynical, sardonic 'bodymate.'

Traits which, oddly enough, manifest in Nara's mindscape as a bristling cactus with shaded sunglasses on and a fedora hat.

"It only worked because we just killed all of it's pack except for itself. It was terrified, not polite. Well, okay, it was polite, but that was _because_ it was terrified," Nara argues back. "Also, you realize that it looks like we're talking to ourselves, right?"

"The only beings around for fifteen large-sized dune lengths are us and that Gillian, who's certainly not going to look back to see if we'll eat it as well," she dryly parries, secure in her spot as the better sensor of the two.

"Meh. Let's finish off the pack we just exploded. We wouldn't want to cut our visit too short because we got hungry and attracted some Shinigami."

"Meh," she agrees.

.

.

.

The roasted Hollows taste crunchier and more flavorful than their ordinarily rather bland-by-now hot copper and sandy grit taste.

Fastidiously cleaning up after themselves is a considerably more troublesome job, especially as the blood has to be buried and sifted to cancel the scent from sensitive Hollow noses, and even then it's only muted to background Hueco Mundo levels of blood.

But by the time Aran, with her finer degree of control, is experimentally trying to feel the fabric of dimension through 'instinct,' as the Gillian had unhelpfully pleaded for them to believe, there is no sign of the massacre of 27 Gillian, save for the faint, lingering impression of smoke.

Their hunger is barely decreased, however, when she succeeds and tears a careful slit into what has been their reality for who-knows-how-long.

It'll have to do, though.

They side-step through the narrow portal, daintily lifting one clawed hoof after another.

.

.

.

Humanity is their new obsession, their hunger pushed stubbornly to the back-burner.

They visit as often as they can, resting less and eating far, far more in the smaller amount of time they reside in Hueco Mundo.

Newspapers, novels, national propaganda leaflets... Aran reads it all, with the fervor and excitement of one who has found a true calling at last.

Nara, less enthusiastic, nonetheless contributes to their fast-growing mental library in the interest of being well-informed.

If any humans could've seen them, they would've looked decidedly strange, just for the way they flicked rapidly through two works at once, one consciousness looking out of each eye, playing mental rock-paper-scissors-shoot to decide who gets control of the dominant right arm each trip.

(Out of necessity, their body soon adapts to ambidextrousness.

 _All the better for speed-reading with, my dear._ )

Morals and laws mean little over the lines of cultural relativism, but they feel obliged to follow at least some of them, as a sort of peculiar 'rent' for residing in their realm.

Even if they really only followed the morals and laws when they felt like it.

So they refrain from stealing libraries to squirrel away in Hueco Mundo, although smaller items, which they have no money to pay for, unfortunately go missing around them quite a lot.

Little, amusing indulgences and luxuries.

Aran emanates melancholy when she realizes the mouth of a masked Adjuchas was not ideal for eating food other than Hollows.

Nara cheers her up by pointing out that they're invisible and immaterial, but can nonetheless affect their surroundings, meaning that they can plausibly break into high-security buildings for the sole purpose of reading rare texts.

She is intrigued, and wonders if they can swim and go underground, possibly finding lost treasures, as they don't need to breathe, and they won't be inconveniently crushed by pressure/debris.

.

.

.

They can.

Underwater gets really cold, though, and takes forever to float back up.

Also, the sparse ghosts are all Hollows, and the Hollows are all old and cranky and vicious and probably the ones responsible for 'mysterious drownings' or sinkings.

The taste of water-dwelling Hollows is salty and sour, too, so Aran soon loses interest in going underwater, Nara content to no longer feel that chill.

It made napping difficult, as well, and really...

Atlantis is just populated by a bunch of ancient Hollows too busy brawling it out _still_ to pay any outsiders any attention.

.

.

.

Aran teases when Nara discovers shogi and pillows and blankets, all of which he insists on bringing piles of back to Hueco Mundo, even if he has to keep replacing them since the human-made material disintegrated quickly in the Reishi-saturated air.

Nara smugly teases back when Aran discovers calligraphy sets.

.

.

.

The first thing they do after reaching Vasto Lorde and ascending into two beings is go to the human world for a relaxing celebratory vacation, nevermind the fact that they spent about 50% of their time there already.

The first thing Aran does in the human world after reaching Vasto Lorde is go on a global food tour.

Human food doesn't fill her up anymore than breathing in non-Reishi-saturated air does, but it all tastes fantastic and so _nostalgic_ for some reason and she remembers, oh, hey, we were human once.

Nara indulgently accompanies her, his protective instinct not letting him lose sight of the one he's been with since his existence as a Hollow, even if they no longer share a body.

.

.

.

"Shika," she says suddenly, doe eyes alert over a bowl of (stolen) miso soup.

He jolts, and carefully sets down his own bowl.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Shi-ka," she says again, slower, rolling the word around her much more humanoid mouth like she's testing it out. "I just thought that... our names don't really fit us. I mean, Nara? Kinda... but not... specific. And... we're in Japan. Japanese for 'deer' is Shika, all our Hollow forms that we can remember have had deer motifs of some sort, and, well, yeah. It... sounds right, though, doesn't it? More than I first thought. Shika. Shika, my... twin brother, since our Vasto Lorde forms are practically identical."

Nodding, he tries it out himself.

"Shika."

It _does_ sound right, more than 'Nara' ever did, anyway.

And now something's nagging at him, nudging him mentally, from dust in his mindscape from the ground-up remains of whatever clouded memory fragments carried over and weren't destroyed in his Hollow years so far.

"Kako," it slips out, slides slickly, easily, naturally off his tongue.

Aran- no, _Kako_ brightens, practically glowing from her dead-white complexion.

They nod together, wavelengths of _familiarity_ and _rightness_ resonating down their still-shared connection.

Then they return to their soup.

.

.

.

(Dead is dead is dead, and they're Hollows now, and that's fine, that's okay.

They have each other and that makes everything more than fine, way past okay.

Humans are weak and strong and pathetic and amazing and stubborn little contradicting bipolar shits, which is what makes them humanity.

If they have some barely-there echoes from a past life or maybe lives?

Then they have some barely-there echoes from a past life or maybe lives, and that's all there is to it.

They've never really resented being Hollows, or sought to regain a life as a human.

Hollows are Hollows, humans are humans, and while it's nice floating around among the humans, they're happy with their lot, thankyouverymuch, especially after reading so many tales about dire consequences and tragedies befalling those who wanted to change something that shouldn't be changed.

Shika and Kako have each other.

That's all they really want.

Don't stress out, don't be blue.

Go with the flow, right?

... Shika told Kako to please stop singing hippie songs, he's trying to sleep over here, and she's not even singing very on-key.)

.

.

.

"You promised," she sang in a sing-song, dangling her stolen prize in front of him.

He sighed, cursing his ill luck at losing their last blocked-connection shogi game.

But, Shika reflected, turning slightly to admire his reflection that the humans passing by couldn't see, the spiky ponytail _did_ look fitting on him, and it did keep his bangs out of his face.

And if he had to wrap a white hair ribbon around his plain black hair-tie so that, according to Kako, they 'matched' with inverted colors...

Well, she seemed pleased enough, standing by his side to compare her fluffy white black-ribboned braid with his shaggy black white-ribboned ponytail.


	3. Tina

**Disclaimer:**

 _I don't own Dreaming of Sunshine, Naruto, or Bleach._

* * *

 **Index:**

 **-That One Unavoidable Shogi Game**

 **(no, not that one, the other one)**

 **-Resurreccion...?**

.

.

.

Kako is the reckless one out of the two of them.

She's the one who looks at the odds, looks at the chances, looks at the facts, and then discards them with a carefully calculated shrug to bound ahead anyway, _because she feels like it_ or something as equally dependant on her whims.

There are times when more flashes of memory echoes come, and Kako acts even wilder and impulsive than usual, emotions holding a certain urgent vibrancy, her Reiryoku tense and tight through their connection, as if making up for lost opportunities.

As if... she's afraid of (no... resents?) forgetting herself, so tries to impress herself into the world around them, in an attempt to reassert her very being through sheer force of will.

Well, the moments pass fairly quickly, and Kako doesn't want to talk about them; in the end, he feels everything she does, albeit second-hand and slightly faded, and they understand each other.

He respects her silence.

But the point is, Kako is supposed to be the freewheeling breeze to his conservative cloud, the cloud who floats along and deftly maneuvers around tricky weather- er, situations.

And yet, here he is, playing shogi against Aizen Sousuke.

Shika can practically hear Kako reprimanding him once more about it, scolding about 'revealing strategies' and turning his own words about 'hiding our true competency' back onto him.

Thankfully, her mental nagging appears to have ceased for now, though there is a degree of lingering, pointed grudgingness left misting up the metaphysical bridge spanning their separate mindscapes, hanging heavily over the non-existent railings as an opaque ashen miasma.

There is a tint of visible pearly white and glossy gold, however, meaning she's equally amused, fond, and somewhat teasingly exasperated, and will probably move on from the shogi games in a few more days.

(One perk of living in Las Noches; there are clocks again, Reiatsu-formed ones that won't deteriorate as rapidly as human-made ones, which means they have the luxury of definite time-measurements again.

It's no fun oversleeping when you don't when you're supposed to miss waking up.)

He sends a quick probe through the fog, and retrieves a couple of impression in return.

Shika blinks slowly, languid and ponderous, at the shogi board laying in front of him, as he automatically assembles the sensations into understandable information in a matter of milliseconds, ultra-efficient genius technically-dead brain processing it as simply as breathing.

(Not that he actually needs to do that...)

Ah, that explains it; Kako isn't prodding about his shogi, because she's busy talking at Ulquiorra, trying to both convince him to talk back and, preferably, agree to let her paint a few symbols onto his paper-white skin, as an experiment to figure out if she can apply and make seals other than her explosion seals work.

Yesterday she was equally busy debating emotions and hearts with the green-eyed Espada, in between evading the blue-haired Espada she denied having exploded the favorite clothes of.

 _Irritation-interest-vague-familiarity_ trickles into the metaphysical river running under the metaphysical bridge covered by the metaphysical miasma, and Shika refocuses the majority of his concentration onto the firmly physical neat grid, with it's scattered wooden pieces Kako once referred to as 'coffins'.

He thinks they, if anything, resemble tombstones more.

With that nebulously amusing and possibly morbid though in mind, although how you can get more morbid than being already dead he has no idea and no desire to know, Shika nudges his Kin-Sho precisely one space to the left.

Even not looking up, he can hear his opponent's low, thoughtful hum, pleasantly amiable and deceptive, and can imagine the slow, satisfied upwards curve of his mouth as he answers with a shift of his Kei-Ma, ever so subtly brilliant.

Shika looks up, then, and observes that a., he was correct, b., that probably has worrying implications as to how much time they've spent whiling away time in this quiet shogi chamber, and c., Aizen Sousuke is one magnificent bastard.

Kako is right to worry about the risks of playing a strategy game with a person like Aizen Sousuke, who rivals him in genius and rivals Kako in motivation, but that's the point:

He rivals.

He's a challenge.

Possibly the greatest challenge Shika's come across yet, a challenge he isn't certain of the rules for, or the prize, or even, in the end, the opponent.

Because while they're allied with Aizen, here, across this miniature universe with the two of them playing God to separate armies, they seek to end each other.

And it's fascinating, and _interesting_ , and it's always taken far more to interest Shika, _really_ interest him, than it has to catch the attention and intrigue of his frightfully flightful but ultimately fiercely loyal sister.

He's having _fun_ , having this- this- this Aizen Sousuke who never fails to provide a wickedly difficult game, a refreshing different challenge.

They are carving away layers with each new round of shogi, learning more about each other.

That's a risk, too; friends close, enemies closer, and Kako's got quite a keen sense about trustworthiness.

(In the end, they're only truly loyal to each other, ensured through this sympathetic bond, but for now, Kako's happy to hang around, and he is, well, content enough to do so as well.)

So Aizen's in that muddled grey zone between hostilely avoided and actively trusted.

Shika watches, plays, learns that Aizen favors traps and tricks and sending his O-Sho, his _King_ to do battle with the higher-up pieces, will not hesitate to sacrifice his Fuhyo pawns, and is fond of using his stronger pieces, but will readily enough leave them to 'die' once cornered, rarely bothering to bail them out.

Aizen definitely watches and learns about him right back as they play, but Shika doesn't like losing and doesn't think too closely about always going all-out for the win.

Kako's the more gracious loser of the two them, just as she's the one more liable to take risks like this very real one he's taking.

He still doesn't think too closely about it, though, knowing that he'd convince himself to stop if he ever did, and he's having too much fun with mind working overdrive to find an answer to give this quiet thrilling exhilaration up.

His fingers tingle as he brushes them against his Narikyo, then leans back to survey the remade battlefield with freshened eyes.

10 steps forward and 200 possibilities later, fingertips delicately balancing his chin, Shika concedes to their 87th tie.

"A good game," Aizen says, smiling a wide white slit.

He concurs, and they shake hands.

.

.

.

"Resurreccion...? Well, that depends. Can you force my hand, Protector? _Will_ you force... _our_ hand?"

Kurosaki Ichigo bares his teeth in a wide, fierce grin, gaze feral.

"Watch me."

They watch, both of them, through the vision of one, something old and equally feral rising up in her/his/their eyes to meet the wave of revolution head-on.

.

.

.

"Alright. Congratulations, then. _Rise and roam, Quema de Oscuridad._ "


	4. Quattuor

**Disclaimer:**

 _I don't own Dreaming of Sunshine, Naruto, or Bleach._

* * *

 **Index:**

 **-Espada Impressions, ver. Nelliel, Tier, and Luppi**

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.

.

While, for the most part, level-headed and neutral, they agree on a passive dislike for all the other Espada, just on principle.

Partly because of their doubt, scorn, hostility, and/or indifference upon their arrival to Las Noches as Vasto Lordes, partly because of their general dubiousness expressed upon their joint appointment to 1st Espada as Arrancar, and partly because they just really didn't like some part of their personality.

The twins often dislike different traits, but they agree on the matter-of-fact dislike.

.

.

.

Nelliel's pacifism is something they can live with, her reasoning holding a few ideas that Shika and Kako both somewhat subscribe to.

After all, she'd gotten to 3rd Espada despite her code of honor and soft-heartedness, which is a commendation they can respect.

Kako can't respect her self-righteousness, though, in degrading those who fight out of hatred, or prejudice, or out of competition.

Those are all ordinary emotions, concepts, instincts.

Survival of the swift, the strong, the smart and sly, cutting down each other through the desire to establish a set hierarchy, challenging one another to usurp or to gain, to see where they stand: they are to be expected from Hueco Mundo inhabitants.

That's just how things work, and for her to judge that as inferior to her personal philosophy is nearly an example of cultural relativism, and certainly a case of a suppressed superiority complex manifesting in a subconscious desire to pretend herself morally _better_ than those around her.

And her calling 'vengeance' to be a worthy cause of battle is just outrageous hypocrisy, another thing Kako can't, no, _won't_ respect, because 'vengeance' is simply a prettified word for 'bitterness' and 'more hatred' and 'terrible, consuming obsession.'

Terrible, terrible, terrible.

Kako hears echoes of steel ringing steel, sees echoes of flickering fading foxfire, feels echoes of burning cold focus, and can almost taste the salt and blood and smoke on her tongue.

If she has ever hated anything, then yes, Kako hates someone casting vengeance in a positive light, hates it for reasons she doesn't know.

She can forgive hypocrisy, because every sentient existing being within a society is, has been, or will be hypocritical, and she admits that she herself is, has been, and will be, as well.

But she cannot forgive the slightest positivity towards vengeance.

 _(remember remember remember / rule one no dying that's a good rule i like it / broken chuckles by the flames and rubbing frostbitten fingers / wipe her tears then teal eyes red hair raw lips / forget for a night forget me not never)_

For Shika, it's just the denial of her Hollow urges to permanently end her opponents.

More importantly, leaving them alive to nurse their wounds and recover and suddenly she's got all these enemies after her seeking vengeance.

He isn't as hung-up as Kako is about vengeance, but the sheer idiocy of such an action offends his tactical attitude, especially as Nelliel is usually surprisingly logical and calm otherwise, two traits he _can_ support and amiably shares.

Pity, that.

.

.

.

Tier's philosophy of not killing, especially for gaining power, is bewildering and frankly impossible for her to subscribe to.

First, she's a Hollow, as they categorize 'Arrancar' to be Hollows.

Second, Hollows must eat either other Hollows or human spirits to live and evolve, since apparently all souls are not created alike, and animal souls dissipate immediately by themselves into animal afterlife/reincarnation/Somethingness.

Well, okay, Shika reminds that Hueco Mundo's Reishi-thick air means lesser Hollows can still survive if they aren't eaten, but the point is, Kako deflects, Tier used to be a Vasto Lorde-class Menos.

Which means, third, she definitely ate other Hollow or human spirits, and to do so, killed them (again); otherwise, she would not have evolved so far.

And fourth, evolving = gaining power = a blatant contradiction boiled in blatant hypocrisy.

If she actually followed that philosophy since her inception as a senseless roaming pit of hunger and claws and teeth, and still somehow got here as a serious, sane, smart Arrancar, then that would be a paradox capable of feeding Shika's genius IQ for a couple of days, at least.

Then Kako (and consequently, Shika) hears her other philosophy of winning in a group, if she cannot do so alone.

Oh, didn't _that_ carry some loaded connotations.

What is she trying to win? Who or what is she trying to beat? Why is she trying to be victorious?

 _Who/what is she trying to prove herself to, and why?_

 _._

 _._

 _._

(Shika computes paradoxes, Kako picks apart psychology, and they achieve another agreement of _'we're all messed up somehow but we're all sentient even if we aren't all necessarily alive and anyway..._

 _'... we've got each other.'_

They don't need Fraccione, not with an understanding like that, although Kako is occasionally dragged in by Tier's Fraccione for 'girl-talk,' something she compliantly assents to with amusement, and Shika sometimes mooches off them for food and extra pillows.)

.

.

Luppi's sarcasm is quite entertaining at times, often boldly snarking something they're all thinking but won't say.

His arrogance is quite entertaining, too, in much more sardonic terms.

Shika is excellent at being sardonic and not excellent at being entertained, but there holds a certain comic relief in witnessing the androgynous replacement-Espada playing about in his battles, playing about in his spars, playing about and fancying himself the cat.

No, he's the puffed-up mouse.

The comic relief lies in predicting when and how Luppi will die because of his arrogance, because it was never doubted that arrogance would be his downfall.

Really?

Inviting his opponents to gang up against him, _actively_ giving them time to do so, _willingly aiding them_ with _personally provided_ and **accurate** information about odds and match-ups and his own abilities?

Then drawing out the fight long enough for his opponent to learn and adapt and improve?

Correction: the puffed-up, nearsighted, suicidal mouse nibbling casually on radioactive cheese that's pulsing erratically.

The cat is not Shika, a., because he's not sufficiently motivated to bother with Luppi, b., because a cat's sideways swipe and casual confidence is not his carefully nonincriminating style, and c., the cat is definitely Aizen Sousuke in any given situation, all milk and honey and rat poison.

He wonders, idly, how much force it would take for a deer's hoof to squash a mouse.

Oh, and the first thing Luppi ever said to them was a comment on Kako's flat-chestedness in comparison to the other female Espada, which naturally doesn't help Shika's opinion of him much.

But truly, the astonishing _arrogance_ of this fool who's been lucky enough so far to get to Sexta without maiming or death, what with his constant provoking and annoying and sniping of those around him.

Shika thinks he will not be overly mourning when the mouse finally falls off his lucky streak and tumbles right into the jaws of the awaiting cat.

As current matters stand...

Maybe it will be Grimmjow who knocks aside the mouse and snaps it up with panther teeth and a decisive deadly crunch.

He's just lucky Kako took the comment about her chest amiably, and simply dislikes Luppi both for his tendency towards vengeance as a sore loser, and for the shared (low) impression of his arrogance.

The sheer strategical _affront_ _-!_

.

.

.

Not all is bad and negative.

Kako, at least, being the more actively social one of the two, finds something to appreciate about each Espada.

(Shika doesn't have sufficient motivation to do anything about them, which more or less amounts to the same thing.)

She talks books with Nelliel, compliments her hair, discusses braids and swordplay with Tier, compliments her hands, and trades relatively friendly sarcastic remarks with Luppi, complimenting his eyelashes.

 _(snowflakes drifting in on girlish giggles / mists rolling in on roiling riverbanks / death fluttering in on coquettish lidded smiles)_

He slouches by in the hallways and nods to all them, lazy and languid and often loudly yawning.

.

.

.

But they still have a fundamental passive dislike for their... coworkers.

One that is tempered by their united cause.

... Mostly.

.

.

.

(Really, Kako only explodes some stuff technically not hers around twice per month, and of course Shika's never caught by anyone who's not his literally mind-reading soulmate.)


	5. Paha

**Disclaimer:**

 _I don't own Dreaming of Sunshine, Naruto, or Bleach._

* * *

 **Index:**

 **-Conditions**

 **-On the Way to Las Noches**

 **-Heart**

 **-Leftovers**

.

.

.

"... we would like a certain degree of autonomy, of course. We also request permission to visit the human world whenever we'd like. And we are a partnership; we refuse to be separated, and any privileges or rankings or others of the like will be shared between us two. We are, essentially, one being with different perspectives. Do you agree to these terms?"

"I agree," Aizen angled his head in a sort of side-dip, feeling it to be the correct gesture of affirmation, though he loathed bowing to anyone, no matter how shallow it was.

They didn't look at each other, simply saying in synchronization, "We accept."

The brown-haired Shinigami offered a hand, the black-/white-haired Vasto Lorde-class Menos eyed it curiously.

And then they shook on it.

.

.

.

The journey to Las Noches was presumably longer than it was _from_.

Although Sousuke had to walk (or, more likely, Shunpo) quite a distance to reach the far-off and greatly-feared territory of the Twins, and then search around for a while to locate their suppressed energy signature, he didn't stop during the ordeal.

(He half-suspected the Twins had purposely released their Reiryoku to make him come to them, instead of the other way around.

The other half-suspicion was that they hadn't released more than the bare minimum needed to alert him to their presence across the constantly reforming landscape, a suspicion well-founded on the power levels expected of such a trepidation-inspiring legend, or at least the power levels expected of a Vasto-Lorde.

Tier Harribel's exuded Reiryoku was enough to make the air around her shimmer visibly.

Their's, combined, seemed similar to a mere Gillian's at most, enough to serve as a beacon in their noticeably barren and rather small lands, but ordinarily unremarkable in Hueco Mundo.

It spoke measures about their control, which had to be leagues above that of a typical Vasto Lorde, or indeed, any other Hollow, and probably a good 85% of Shinigami as well.)

The newly-recruited pair, on the other hand, stopped very frequently.

When they'd gotten a ways off from their formerly claimed territory, distance and time being rather fluid concepts in the endless undulations of sand, without any prior notice or communication, they shifted stances and vanished in a blitz of synchronized speed.

He'd given chase, of course, but at a slower pace, confident that a., they'd keep their promise of alliance, b., he wanted to see the results of whatever they were aiming to do, and c., he could always find them again if a. proved untrue.

Sousuke came across a scene of the neatest carnage ever produced from a massacre.

Hollows, mainly Gillian with two or three Adjuchas mixed in as leaders, laid limply and placidly, looking for all the world like they were merely strewn across the ground in sleep, if it weren't for the fact that the closest a Hollow can get to 'sleep' is a deep meditative state.

Oh, their severed heads counted against, too, as did the two slim, inversed figures perched primly on the corpses, fastidiously picking through them with careful, quick, bird-like motions.

Quite inversed:

Long hair, short hair, white hair, black hair, shorter, taller, black clothes with white accents, white clothes with black accents, and the shared identical features only serving to act as 'blankness' for the backdrop of the 'reflection'.

He addressed the long-haired twin, first, based on prior evidence of her (assuming she _was_ a 'her,' according to her identifying pronouns in her speech) mainly acting as the voice of the two.

"Why did you two engage in a feeding frenzy here? Has it been a long time since you've last eaten?"

Kako shook her head, a small, swift motion, cervine eyes glittering with an uncharacteristically predatorial waning thrill, her blood clearly still humming from adrenaline.

To her left, Shika appeared more animated as well, eyes mirroring hers, biting off chunks of the Adjuchas head gripped between his hands, the already-sharp nails elongated to short, curved claws, swallowing the pieces whole in little, frequent gulps.

The Adjuchas' mask was left discarded on a pile of masks; one of the identifying traits of the Twins' infamous feedings was the stack of masks from defeated and eaten Hollows, like scorned spoils.

"No," she said, shortly, spearing an eyeball and popping it in her very human mouth to chew thoughtfully, her voice a bit lower and huskier than before.

Shika took over, surprisingly taking initiative and being more eloquent than the being he claimed to be his twin sister.

"We are Hollows. Our instinct is to kill, and kill well, then feast on the remains and grow stronger, to temporarily smoothen the omnipresent hunger within us. Stronger Hollows become even stronger with each ascending evolution, and that base strength from each preceding evolution factors in. You've implied the same to occur within Arrancar evolution. Why should we _not_ maximize our current strength before this 'final' evolution?" he questioned rhetorically, his voice another contrast to Kako, pleasantly elaborating in a higher, brighter tone.

"Besides, they practically invited us to attack; nobody crosses into our land anymore, which is a shame. I quite enjoy delivery meals, although my sister prefers take-out," he added.

If Kako seemed like she wanted to growl, then Shika seemed like he wanted to purr.

Sousuke made a vague noise of understanding, and waited for them to finish, since there wasn't really another option.

With nothing better to do in this sort of company, he sat down on one of the Hueco Mundo dunes, watching them systematically work their way through the roughly 20 Hollows.

Kako carved pectoral into strips to daintily drink down like slithering squirmy snakes, favoring peeled eyes and soft squishy guts to chew like human gummy candies, pale pink tongue darting out in occasional flashes to flick away tiny splatters of blood on her face, or the hands she buried wrist-deep into flesh.

Shika just muched steadily through everything like a loaf of bread, in neat motions but not overly careful about stains, preferring to crunch down and feel bones shatter into splinters, sucking out the marrow fastidiously before moving on to the next Hollow.

It was odd, how perfectly aligned they were, trading off choice favorites and always knowing when to hold out a hand at just the right moment to catch.

When finally finished, they persisted in staying even longer, beginning an apparently traditional ritual of sprawling over each other in a languid, lounging, languid mess of limbs, 'grooming' each other like littermates in a pack, ignoring him entirely in their shamelessly intimate proceedings, Shika raking his slowly retracting claws through Kako's unbound hair and nuzzling her neck as she licked him meticulously clean of viscera and blood, like a primly fussing mother hen.

With anybody else, it would look blatantly sexual, but between them, it just seemed so... _not_ , that to even put it that way seemed incomprehensible in relation to describing the scene.

Then they immediately untangled, fixed their various hairstyles, and turned expectant eyes upon Sousuke like nothing had just happened, back to normal.

The entire thing repeated at least twenty-eight times before they reached Las Noches.

Sousuke was pretty certain that Hueco Mundo was lacking the majority of it's Gillian packs by then.

These Twins better live up to his expectation of being powerful enough for Primeral; he'd lost count of how long he'd waited on those dunes.

At least Espada were more or less autonomous when he didn't want to deal with them.

.

.

.

They don't get it.

Why is everyone talking like the hunger Hollows were named after comes from missing a 'heart'?

That's just silly.

The hole is supposed to represent their lack of heart, the mask is supposed to represent their former protective heart.

When they first transform and it's clear in their nudity that they have no hollow hole, either of them, and no mask fragments at all, confusion ensues.

They just don't get it.

It's all so clear.

They never had a hollow hole, not ever, and when they were originally sharing one body, they had one mask.

After becoming Vasto Lordes and splitting into two bodies, their mask also split into two, hidden under their robes, each half covering where their respective hearts would be if they were human.

The reason they have no hollow hole or any mask when ascended to a 'fuller' Arrancar evolution is just as clear.

"Kako is my heart," he says, mildly incredulous, like _they're_ the stupid ones who don't make sense.

"And Shika is mine," she shrugs, sending a probe of inquiry through their slightly-faded-by-evolution connection.

The room explodes into greater chaotic bewilderment.

They really just don't get it.

(But they _would_ like to get some clothes, thank you.

It's rather cold.

... oh, and, uh, for modesty and all that.

Yeah.)

.

.

.

Neither of them are bothered by Nnoitra's sneers when they ask where his last massacre took place.

They know that he thinks them dignity-less for taking the 'leftovers' of his kills like mere scavengers.

Which, again, doesn't bother them.

He's soon distracted by antagonizing Nelliel like a prepubescent sexually-confused tween pulling on the pigtails of his denied crush, anyway, and they slip off to eat in peace.

Waste not, want not.

Nnoitra's carelessness and Arrancar-haughtiness in not eating like 'a mere Hollow' only serves to benefit them in boosting their strength, after all.

Small droplets in worlds of vast ocean, maybe, and his killmarks leave a certain souring taste, true...

But an advantage is an advantage, Shika thinks.

They can always slide into the human world for a mouth-cleansing treat afterwards, for Kako to load her senses full of cultivated sugary-sourness, for him to roast his throat in spices until he feels like he could breathe fire.

Now, however, they'll nibble neatly under the gloriously plump moon, kneeling seiza-style on a blanket of sand, then relax and groom each other like their Vasto Lorde days, tasting nostalgia among the cannibal meat.


	6. Kuus

**Disclaimer:**

 _I don't own Dreaming of Sunshine, Naruto, or Bleach._

* * *

 **Index:**

 **-Copulation, Affection, and the In-Betweens of Love, ver. Hollow**

 **-A Moment in (Past) Time**

 **-Language and Communication**

.

.

.

Shinigami are really just humans formed of Reishi; they can eat food made of Reishi, they must excrete and have medical check-ups, they can create things and destroy things of Reishi.

They live in a world made of Reishi.

Most importantly, and mind-puzzlingly, they can copulate, impregnate, and birth children, provided they have enough Reiryoku that it won't kill them.

Essentially, they are creating brand-new souls set in vessels made of Reishi and parent-given Reiryoku, like the spirit equivalent of atoms and DNA.

Thus, being so human, their concepts of romantic love, sexual intimacy, and marriage are much the same.

Non-Shinigami souls in Soul Society are similar, excepting the fact that if they don't have enough Reiryoku to become a Shinigami, it's impossible for them to have enough Reiryoku to impregnate or become impregnated, and thus Rukongai families, unless they died together, are almost never blood-related at all.

It's different, however, for Hollows.

They are less human in societal expectations, behavior, and ways of thinking/acting/reacting, especially if they aren't 'Shinigami-fied' Arrancar Hollows.

Hollows are... more bestial, more feral, more unrestrained and power-focused.

They _are_ quite human, actually, just humans removed from society since birth and set into an unforgiving, harsh, predator-predator environment.

Call it 'de-evolution,' perhaps, but they are what they are.

Basic Hollows are like mindless, uncomprehending babies, uncaring if they are pack animals or loners, just surviving off of bare instincts to kill everything you can to rid yourself of threats, and flee as fast as you can if you come across something you can't kill.

Needless to say, they do not have the maturity, urge, or luxury of sex for pleasure or reproduction, the latter of which is impossible for Hollows.

If not because of the short life expectancy and overwhelming paranoia of those who do live longer than usual, than because of the lack of a womb in either-gendered Hollows.

Hence, genders of Hollows not mattering much or being readily identifiable until they are relatively humanoid, and retain enough awareness, intelligence, and societal expectancy knowledge to know what looks or acts 'feminine' or 'masculine.'

Also, when they start speaking and use feminine or masculine pronouns to identify themselves naturally.

Nnoitra may say that females are weaker, but that's only generally true in terms of physical strength and numbers; the male-female Hollow ratio is around 70%-30%, at least for those who can be identified with a gender, and physically-weaker female Hollows are swifter to balance attributes.

One can always train, too, and gain strength as they evolve, hence why Nelliel is very much strong enough to ward off Nnoitra and defeat him soundly on her own.

Back on topic, Gillian Hollows would be those awkward elementary-age dorks, Adjuchas would be those teetering-on-innuendo-awareness middle-school tweens, and Vasto Lords would be those teens trying to figure out their life, identity crisis, and sexual orientation all at once right when hormones start kicking in and out like a flickering faulty switch.

In other words, they notice, but don't understand, or perhaps very reasonably realize that copulating as Hollows might end in the very real possibility of one partner waking up and biting off the other's head, mantis-style.

(Or was it spider-style? Only, the male [if it _is_ a male/female couple] has as great of a chance as the female to be the one biting off heads.)

When you're cannibals wrangling out the details of 'prey' and 'pack-not-prey' or 'predator-stronger-than-me,' adding in copulation is unnecessary, sometimes unwanted, and usually unnoticed.

Tier Harribel's comment about 'life being tougher for female Hollows, who are targeted more often,' is relating to the idea of physically-weaker female Hollows, not the insinuation of nonconsensual carnal relations, another idea that (luckily?) didn't 'carry over' from remembered human knowledge through intelligence-gains in evolution, if one goes by the theory of higher-evolved=more civilized=more intelligent=more 'memories' remembered from their (most recent) past life.

Again, as Hollows have essentially no built-in sex drive, which is an instinct implemented to ensure reproduction and survival of a species, as they _cannot_ reproduce and _don't_ need to ensure survival of their species, sexual and also romantic attraction isn't a 'thing' until they are even more 'humanized' by the 'Shinigamification' of becoming an Arrancar.

The more stable, peaceful, and structured Arrancar existence also affects the development of more 'luxury' emotions like happiness and grief and, yes, romantic love, since they now have both the societal expectations, and a society in an orderly environment to pressure that 'good' behavior.

(Platonic love, or at least loyalty, already exists between Fraccione.)

Meaning they now don't need to worry about finding enough food and shelter and avoiding being eaten, and thus have time and space to experiment with worrying about how nice that one Arrancar smells and how perfect that Arrancar's killing blow is and how beautiful (by the societal standards of 'beauty') that Arrancar just _is_.

So, for Hollows, sex and romance and crushing doesn't begin until you're Arrancar.

Except, for Shika and Kako, it never begins.

It's not about maturity; their Arrancar forms are in their late teens, and they have impressive emotional reserve and depth and _sanity_.

It's just... not a 'thing' for them.

Occasionally, after seeing the physical and mental intimacy they share, after seeing how much they trust and cling to each other in possessiveness, some people ask if they're in a relationship.

No stigma: gender generally isn't a matter, appearances and mentality don't always match up, and really, a lot of people doubt if they're actually siblings, since of course there's no real way to tell, not even with their uncanny similarity.

But they're not, and it's not 'repulsion' that they feel at the concept, it's just 'blankness.'

Like... asking a fish if it wants to hold a firecracker.

Because they love each other, oh, yes, so closely and desperately, but it's not romantic.

It's deeper than that.

 _(enough to make a god allow their souls at least on reunion)_

There's a question that highlights one of the major differences between typical Eastern and Western ideology:

 _If your house was burning, and in it was you, your spouse, and your parent, and you can only rescue one, who would you rescue?_

Romantic love is rarely as 'true' as stories depict it, but familial love is something indescribably connecting.

And in their case, they're literally connected.

Even more, they once shared one consciousness and one body though they had two souls, and their Resurreccion, their final one, melds them back into that one perfect balance of Shika and Kako.

Once you've literally been one being, you don't just... stop.

They're twins and they love each other but they aren't lovers and to sully that powerful, no-words-to-say soul-deep _bond_ with implications of a lesser love is unthinkable.

For all loves they might possibly find, when matched to that unreal standard of perhaps-literal soulmates, will not measure up, not after that/this/then.

Maybe it's simpler to put it this way:

Neither of them feels lust, and either would know if the other did.

Kako likes Nelliel's springy hair texture, her bubbly cheerfulness, her keen interest in books.

She likes Luppi's fine-edged sarcasm, his long lashes, his androgynous aesthetic.

She likes the contrast of Tier's dark skin against light hair, the calmness she exudes, the sharpness of her wrists and cheekbones as she slashes with her sword.

She likes the familiarity of Grimmjow's feral grin and honest sort of bluntness, the _awfully familiar familiarity_ of Szayel's pink hair and meticulous medical interest.

She really, _really_ likes the absolutely utter _greenness_ of Ulquiorra's eyes, his teal tear-marks, the perfect paper-whiteness of his skin that makes her itch to paint ink-black calligraphy over it to match his ink-black waves, the spirited debates she sweeps into while trying to convince his expressionless face of one thing or another.

 _(teal eyes red hair / red eyes black hair / world broke them, let me help you, we'll take on the world together / stoic faces and curled fingers and crisp seals on crisp tags to burn them all to a crisp)_

Shika likes Nelliel's open-book emotion, her predictable gestures, her childish whims balancing her soft curves.

He likes Tier's blondness and proudness and self-assurance that rang faint bells of immediate fondness, her passive patience, her logic and reasonability and cool-headed temper.

He likes Sousuke's sharp smiles (even though he's _Aizen Sousuke_ and the more distance the better), his pleasant unreadability when playing unpredictably brilliant moves, his slim fingers seizing a shogi piece and setting off 10 more steps then 200 more possibilities.

He likes Cyan's composure, the elegance of her movement and habit of covering her mouth accentuating her slenderness, her long lowered lashes over her large lavender eyes.

He even likes Grimmjow's brashness and energy, though it made it made him think of dogs and red fangs instead of cats and teal lines.

 _(blue eyes blond hair / blond hair green eyes / don't be lazy, up and at 'em, you aren't the only one she left behind / confidence and impatience and smacking heads snuggling hands smiling hearts)_

But at the end of the day, it's just them in their mind, and the only ones they need or want are each other.

.

.

.

 _(never-ever-never leave me_

 _not again, please no_

 _kunai through the heart as black hair whips around in shock_

 _still far, far too slow_

 _memorial stone can't fit all the names so we burn prayer strips instead_

 _no, they say, it's **all in your head** )_

.

.

.

Body language, coupled with the predator instincts that are intrinsically ingrained from existence, is the main mode of communication for mute Hollows, and even after Hollows evolve and gain the intelligence needed for purposeful vocalization of an actual language, body language remains a sometimes-subconscious sometimes-not de facto channel.

Going by purposeful vocalization of an actual language, as in, one that can be written, unlike the guttural howls and roars and rumblings included with 'Hollow body language'...

Hollows below Adjuchas are essentially mute, for the most part.

There are exceptional Gillian, of course, but _for the most part_ Hollows below Adjuchas are mute.

Adjuchas usually cannot speak anything more coherent than a few words, which may just be repeated dumbly, meaning it's not purposeful.

Individual-masked Adjuchas, with their higher understanding and intelligence, can speak well enough to carry on with small talk that's only slightly awkward, although they often lack the sort of restraint or long-term planning skills that would make them feel inclined to ever carry on small talk.

Vasto Lorde have the intelligence and coherency expected of a human in their late adolescence, with the varying range of maturity and patience that comes with that connotation.

The language Hollows tend to speak is Japanese, with some Spanish mixed in; they do not, contrary to popular Shinigami conspiracy theories, have their own language, and Shinigami, who are Japanese-speakers themselves, understand Hollows perfectly well.

(They just might not want to acknowledge it, sometimes.

Similar to how Academy instructors say 'look away' after breaking their mask, so as to not feel pity or guilt over killing a creature with a human face, it's often easier on the conscience to pretend that no, that Hollow you just killed _didn't_ gasp out a dying curse on you, that no, that Hollow you just destroyed _didn't_ breathe out a last tearful 'thank-you.'

It's _easier._ )

After much observation, musing, and floating around the human world, Shika corroborated Kako's suggested theory, which was thus:

"Hueco Mundo and Soul Society can't possibly be the only afterlives. 98% of Soul Society dwellers look and speak and act Japanese, and the system itself runs somewhat like Feudal Japan," she reasoned pragmatically.

"Japanese is the language Hollows automatically 'remember' how to speak. There also can't be that few people dead and 'born' and reincarnating, because global census numbers say the global population is growing.

"Meaning... there must be another place, or places, for souls dead in other countries, and at least one place where new souls are churned out much faster than Seireitei birthrates, because common belief and research shows that only the Reiryoku-rich Seireitei inhabitants have enough Reiryoku to spare in forming a new soul, or however it is that children are born to Shinigami and the like.

"So the reason Soul Society souls and Hollows speak Japanese is because Japan is where Shinigami are most famously believed in, meaning that's their headquarters, meaning Soul Society and Hueco Mundo is just the afterlife for souls who most recently died in Japan and were sorted to either one or the other, meaning their most recent life's knowledge of Japanese carried over somehow so even Hollows are just 'remembering', not learning entirely. But then...

"Wait, that doesn't explain why Hueco Mundo and everything in it has Spanish names, or why Hollow classes are labeled in Spanish, or how Japanese souls would remember a language they might not have learned, or what happens to souls who in their last life weren't Japanese and didn't know Japanese but were vacationing in Japan or something and died?"

Here Kako experienced the equivalent of a frustrated angry this-makes-no-sense fit, and here Shika consequently experienced the equivalent of a migraine packed into a bullet.

(The downside of a sympathetic mental omnipresent connection.)

For all of Shika's genius, Hueco Mundo didn't exactly have records or much of a history to record.

The closest to a logical explanation he could get was, "Maybe one of the earliest Shinigami picked up Spanish somewhere and saw Mexico, somehow crossed into Hueco Mundo, and after feeling the heat-coolness cycles and sand decided to unimaginatively coin the world of Hollows to be 'Hollow World'? And from then on used Spanish to name all the places and evolutions, which the Hollows understood and passed on and spread until it was just 'always there'?"

"In other words," Kako deadpanned, "Hollows are supposed to be evil and some bigoted Shinigami decided to thus... what? Spanish-fy Hueco Mundo?"

"It worked, didn't it?" Shika pointed out, transmitting the memory of words like 'resurreccion' and 'fraccione' somehow being naturally used by otherwise Japanese-speaking Hollows.

She wrinkled her nose; a very human gesture.

"That just... I don't know, seems really, really racist."

"But who's being offended?"

"Does someone have to be offended for something to be labeled as racist?"

"Usually, yes."

"Oh. I guess not, then? I think I may be getting another headache..."

" _No wait_ _I was going to have a nap._ "

And then the migraine hit again, slightly softer than a bullet but harder than getting smacked in the face by an oversized foam hand at a crowded playoffs game.

(... Maybe they were getting a little _too_ familiar with human culture, although admittedly, while they could affect things, things couldn't affect them, unless they involved spirit energy, a.k.a. the three 'Rei-'s.

But of course, by then, they'd have stolen safely back into Hueco Mundo.)


	7. Zazpi

**Disclaimer:**

 _I don't own Dreaming of Sunshine, Naruto, or Bleach._

* * *

 **Index:**

 **-Acquiring a Pet**

 **-Omake: Hell-verse, redux**

.

.

.

It all starts with Aizen, unsurprisingly enough, who commented idly on the Primera Espada(s) and their lack of Fraccione.

"We don't need any," Kako yawned, nursing her cup of tea.

Unlike the other Espada forced to drink tea at their meetings, she actually rather enjoyed eating, and as this was Soul Society-grown, reishi-formed tea, she could actually derive some measure of nourishment from it.

Finishing her cup and refilling it, she slid over her brother's cup to sip from, as she waited patiently for the newly-poured tea to cool.

Not that hierro wouldn't take care of that, but it was the principle of the thing.

(As Kako always stayed awake during meetings and contributed more sanity than most of the Espada, everyone politely ignored the lightly snoring form of Shika, slumped over onto the table, head buried resolutely within his nested arms.

It wasn't like he couldn't just receive the memories from Kako.)

"You don't want somebody to be faithfully devoted to you, support you in battle, and do all those little tasks that you'd rather put off?" he questioned pleasantly, wonderingly, the steam from his own cup of tea fogging over the glasses he wore as part of his ongoing kindly-Shinigami-captain disguise. "You don't want, ah, how would the humans say it... minions?"

Kako sent a mental prod into Shika's mindscape to wake him up, then observed Aizen contemplatively.

She knew, and the recently-awoken-but-not-yet-physically-stirred Shika knew, that Aizen was probably just looking for more leverage against them, and ties to hold them down for assurance of loyalty, but...

Well, he was very persuasive, and in this case had the advantage of knowing somewhat what would appeal to their interests.

For Shika, the prospect of even less work, for Kako, the sheer novelty of a personal minion.

Besides, who says it had to be on _his_ terms?

"So kinda like... a pet, right? Our responsibility to raise and feed and maintain, in exchange for effort and entertainment?" she mused aloud, thoughtfully inhaling the rest of the teapot on their end of the table.

Aizen smiled, triumphant.

"Is that a yes?"

Her path-of-least-resistance, can-literally-read-her-mind, fondly indulgent twin (and accomplice-in-crime) snorted 'awake,' grumbling muffled words into the tabletop, "We'll go looking today, then."

.

.

.

"How long do you think it'll take them to figure out we aren't in Hueco Mundo anymore?"

"As long as it takes them to figure out we never defined 'where' or 'who' we were going to go looking for, and then some."

"Meh."

They suppressed their reiryoku to the tiniest droplet they could, and, ignoring the tight, pinched feeling in their chest, stepped through the Kuumon, as revealing the Descorrer before Aizen 'officially' defects would be both unwise (in terms of drawing attention to the gigantic mouth-rip in the sky reeking of Hollow power) and likely throw things out of peace earlier than needed.

Peace is good; you can sleep and be frivolous and mess around during peace, and the worst insults you get are 'lazy' and 'childish' and 'human-lover.'

They'd like peace to be forever, but that's just silly talk.

... and it makes them both think, for a disorienting second, that the Hueco Mundo moon should be much, much redder.

.

.

.

It stands to reason that to maximize effort and entertainment, one should choose an unexpected and constantly-surprising pet.

So though they briefly considered the much safer option of a more fragile and shortlived human, in the end they chose a Shinigami, their, well, supposedly 'natural ' enemies.

Of course, it's not as easy as just going into Soul Society and picking out a Shinigami to train and nurture through amusingly paranoia-causing stalking.

They do have survival instincts; they made it to Vasto Lorde and survived until Espada, didn't they?

Thus, self-preservation (of 'selves') called for them to be a bit more careful than that.

What would happen if Aizen caught on and confiscated their pet before they got it all sharp-toothed and swift-footed?

Somehow, that led to them staking out the Shinigami Academy for the perfect metaphorical puppy.

It arrives in the form of a sunshine-haired, cerulean-eyed first-year, beaming to beat the stars as he bounced (and was rebuffed) around the courtyard, then, once alone, slumped, and slunk grimly determined inside for classes.

 _'Him,'_ she thinks, strangely protective already.

 _'...there's something about him...'_ he agrees, not bothering with the formality of words.

Their gazes track him across the open area between courtyard and door, before retreating to plot out with all their genius how to successfully infiltrate a Shinigami Academy and the general district (stores, inns, restaurants, bathhouses, etc.) around it.

 _Now_ is the time to train and nurture a Shinigami through amusingly paranoia-causing stalking.

.

.

.

Isamu shivered, feeling the itch of invisible eyes upon him once more.

He swore he wasn't making this stuff up, but his poor grades and already-short attention span made all the teachers and fellow students skeptical of his pleas for help.

It had been three nerve-wracking days since it'd started; having successfully made it to the weekend alive (or, um, un-alive but not twice-dead), he decided to celebrate the release from the Academy by going to the closest ramen stand.

The proprietor there was nice, and made good ramen, even if he withheld ramen until he showed proper respect and pronunciation of 'proprietor.'

Hide-san also didn't mind him occasionally talking to himself, or calling him 'Teuchi-san' by mistake, or letting the stray black cat that sometimes popped up perch on his counters.

Although he _did_ cough and look at him weirdly for a few seconds the first time Isama had caved to the kitty-cat eyes and fed her some of his ramen, even sacrificing his favorite narutomaki.

"Hey," someone said by his side, arms up to lean their head back against, as someone else fell in step next to him casually in the crowded, noisy streets of Seireitei, slinging a friendly arm around his neck.

The arm-slinger, dressed in commonplace, everyday clothes, whose bagginess lent uncertainty to their gender, rested slightly against his side as they gently steered his stilled feet towards his intended location, and whispered in his ear, "Your Shinigami security sucks."

Then they were both gone, in what he thought to be a Shunpo too fast and skilled for him to track, leaving behind an impression of loose black hair, identical smirks, and the heavy numbness of realization that he'd just met his stalkers.

And they were unhelpful and _weird_ and totally going to be trolls.

So he did the only thing he could think of to make his gloomy, bewildered, boy-who-cried-wolf-esque situation better.

He went inside Hide's ramen shop, ordered five bowls of miso ramen with extra narutomaki, then fed and petted the black cat who turned up ten minutes later until he felt slightly more deserving of the kanji in his name.

The black cat purred and headbutted his hand for more, so at least _one_ of them was profiting from his confused what-should-i-do misery.

.

.

.

 **The Crack:**

"I think we overshot on that Garganta," Shika commented, body waist-up poked through the spatial rift, as he glanced around at the nicely furnished but empty waiting room, idly noting the strangely-textured flame-patterned wallpaper, and the golden fans hanging on the walls.

Then a door, painted in a glossier, darker red, swung open, revealing a vaguely familiar, annoyed-looking man with black eyes and long, shaggy black hair; dressed in flowing robes of shadow and the suggestion of a much nicer-smelling sulfur, he sauntered with easy arrogance.

"Who the Here is it now? Is Inhuman Resources not handing out the right instructions again? Well? Who are-"

He paused in the middle of his tirade, a look of deep, intensely distrustful suspicion dawning on him.

"Your souls feel... like I should remember... one of you, at least..."

Kako sent a feeling of 'oh shit' into his mind, and hurriedly reached through the portal, just as the man suddenly grew visibly enraged, pointing a trembling finger at them as crimson twisted in his eyes.

"WAIT, YOU'RE THE ONE WHO MESSED UP MY PLANS, DAMN YOU TO HERE! YOU GOT ME STUCK DOWN HERE DOING PAPERWORK UNTIL I KILLED THE LAST KING AND TOOK OVER! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU TO END UP HERE SOONER OR LATER, SH-"

She tugged him fiercely back into the Dangai, forcing them both to the ground.

The already unstabilized, flickering gateway sewed itself back up, but not before a huge gout of flame soared out of it and neatly over their heads, getting sucked somewhere into the currents of the Dangai.

"What was that?" Shika asked, already pulling her answer from her head as she answered, plainly,

"Corporate Hell run by a madman CEO."


	8. Huit

**Disclaimer:**

 _I don't own Dreaming of Sunshine, Naruto, or Bleach, or the cover art._

* * *

 **Index:**

 **-Pranking, Las Noches Style**

 **-Festivity (Or, At Least, Appreciation of Free Stuff)**

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.

.

Nobody is suspicious when an explosion happens in Las Noches, nevermind the fact that it doesn't happen near the twins' rooms; Kako enjoyed roaming the halls, after all, being considerably more social, or at least inclined towards amusing herself with outside factors, than her often-found-napping double.

Nobody is suspicious when Grimmjow, growling gutturally, stalks into the corridors with singed hair, a distinctly aromatic scent of catnip clouding the air around him, and a tenser than usual forbearance to his scowl.

Nobody is suspicious when Szayel's lab reeks with technicolor smoke, or when Baraggan's raging shouts ring clearly about cursing 'whoever had the damned gall to spread filthy ants in a king's quarters,' or when Nelliel, in a rare fit of anger, stomped up to Nnoitra to accuse him of stealing her books, which he retaliated with accusation of _her_ framing him just to start a fight she'd probably 'wimp out of, like always.'

Tier's Fraccion go around questioning the Espada with implied accusations of being behind the theft of her hair-beads, Zommari looms around corners with glares and quiet, pointed queries about the graffiti scrawled over his formerly serene meditation room, Aaroniero loomed with a more meaningful gesture at his gloveless hand, and Ulquiorra carried on his usual aimless wandering and contemplation of Kako's latest argument in favor of 'hearts', uncaring or ignorant of the word 'EMO' scrawled over his forehead in thick black marker, his teal marks powdered over, replaced with mime-like black triangles instead.

Nobody is suspicious, regardless of the suspiciously active level of chaotic incidents happening within one day.

That is, until Kako, uncharacteristically upset, emerges from their rooms dragging along a half-lidded, yawning Shika, dense silvery smog billowing dramatically behind them.

"I'd never do stuff like that!" she protested, when mobbed by the rest of the Espada, letting go of her brother in order to firmly set her hands on the rather nonexistent hips of her twig-slim and stick-straight figure, unleashing some of her reiryoku to press down heavily on them, a reminder of why they were the Primera Espadas.

Indignant, and able to breathe easy in the potent energy the twins usually kept concealed, Kako continued, "Think what you'd like, but I'd hoped you'd all know by now I wouldn't toe the line between cruel and comical. At least, not all at once, and I'd almost certainly stop after once. I have _finesse_ and professional pride in the art of pulling at people's reactions, y'know. Besides, I've got a bone to stab at the culprit, too."

Here she wrinkled her nose, and wrinkled her lips, as well. "Dry ice bombs are so... _unsubtle_. And a pain to clean up, too. It's going to be troublesome clearing away all the carbon-dioxide-rich gas, and in the meantime, we'll probably sleep somewhere in Hueco Mundo."

"Sand is warm enough," Shika added, punctuating with a lazy yawn that made all the gathered Espada feel faintly drowsy, "and it can be a nostalgic vacation."

"With all the vacation days you two take, I swear you'll soon start taking vacation days from vacation days," Cyan muttered, still trembling slightly from the pressure of the reiryoku splinter, but the Fraccion split off from the loose crowd to seek out Tier, soon flanked by her fellow Fraccion.

They all dispersed soon enough after that, grumbling but lacking a definitive target to vent their anger at, moving with only a bit sluggishly.

The twins didn't need to look at each other to know what the other was thinking, to give their intentions vocalization, but they did it anyway, Kako automatically withdrawing the fraction of a fraction of their shared power.

"Vacation from a vacation?"

"There are always bedding and pillow sales going on in human malls, with all those 'sample' beds all laid-out."

"Normal humans can't see us, and abnormal humans are highly unlikely to be able to harm us."

"And samples are meant to be sampled... right?"

.

Half-an-hour later, drowning in a giddy, euphoric high of perfectly bleached sheets, cushy comforters soft enough to rank on 'marshmallow' level, mattresses one could sink into to discover a heaven of cotton and silk, and lavender-scented pillows anyone would be ecstatic to be suffocated by...

"Gin?"

"Totally Gin."

"Silver-haired pumpkin-grinning tricky bastard."

"Couldn't resist the catnip, I suppose. If the trend is 'Espada,' though, why'd he mess with Szayel?"

"I think he has a vendetta against scientists, maybe. Or maybe he thinks Szayel will be an Espada soon?"

"Hmm. Maybe. Who'd he replace, though?"

"Aaroniero? It doesn't seem likely that anyone else will be bumped off or defeated soon."

"Aa. Sleep now. Must hug squishy featheriness."

.

The next day, breakfasting together before their routine departure to Soul Society, Aizen sipped his tea and smiled with pleasant geniality, Tousen silent (and gloomy) beside him.

"Those pranks were a rather creative way to unite the Espada, if only for a brief, irritation-fueled moment," he commented casually.

"I thought so, too," Gin preened, bringing up piece from his customary, favorite dish of dried persimmons even as he blithely bullshitted his agreement, grin never faltering.

It never faltered, either, when he bit into the persimmon and immediately spat it back out, realizing it to be the deceptively similar sweet potato, also known as the source of much persimmon-deprived hate throughout his (after)lifetime.

Dabbing delicately at his mouth, and setting down his empty cup of tea, the glasses-wearing brown-haired trickiest bastard of them all smiled once more, then left the dining room, accompanied by an entourage of Tousen, with a departing remark of,

"Oh, and you'll notify the Espada that new corridor-control and security systems will be beginning construction by next month, won't you?"

Gin, alone with the presence of himself, _then_ dropped his grin, brief enough to scowl with opened eyes at the plateful of swapped-out food and resign himself to grabbing breakfast in Seireitei, before smoothly replacing the carefully calculated just-unnerving-enough expression.

 _'Damn Aizen.'_

Then he left, too, but not before passing on the message to the nearest Arrancar to deliver to the various cranky, still irritated Espada.

Hey, not his problem now.

.

.

.

After becoming more or less accustomed to the presence of the twin Arrancars as the twin Primera Espada, Las Noches' inhabitants, or at least the Las Noches' inhabitants who most frequently came in contact with them, also were forced to become more or less accustomed to their eccentricity through osmosis by prolonged exposure.

Things like their flippant attitudes towards Aizen's cause in general, their flexible and often highly subjective morals, their fickleness in toying with reactions as amused them, their frequent trips to and uncommon fondness of the human world, and their habit of attempting to spread their favorite human discoveries/inventions, which was directly linked to their fickleness in toying with reactions as amused them.

Mostly, it was Kako who had the motivation to pick up projects and juggle them until some were phased out through disinterest, while her brother was content to sprawl sleepily in the background until needed to play a part, though she claimed Shika was actually the one to spawn the majority of the initial concepts and sketch out the best ways to go about testing theorized ideas.

It was possible she was being truthful, as she usually was (being very careful to tell the 'technical' truth instead of tell a lie she might lose track of), but as nobody else in Las Noches had mind connections like their's, it wasn't currently feasible (or overly important) to prove or disprove that particular claim.

Such a habit naturally caused much annoyed embarrassment and provoked reluctant (hidden) curiosity on part of the inhabitants who weren't nearly as invested in the human world as they were.

(The 'Robot Revealment' was still a source of much debate between the more skeptical and persistent believers/disbelievers.)

In this case, Shika had proposed a new challenge to his sister in a bid to keep her mind occupied and busy and not nagging him, so he could catch up on the sleep he'd missed from their latest excursion/hunt, savoring the feel of lessening the hunger that was always there, even faded by Shinigamification as it was.

"You like that holiday they're celebrating soon in the human world, right?" he'd yawned. "The one with the decorated trees and crosses and presents and generally pervasiveness of quaint cheer and good food? Why not recreate it here? Mind you, I'll expect a present, too."

She'd rolled her eyes, pointing out, "you can always pluck it from my mind," to be countered with, "I _can_ , but I can also _not._ "

A look of thoughtfulness that gathered around her, though, appearing as a gently rolling pair of golden dice in her mindscape, chasing each other around in a revolving circle of perpetual motion.

.

Kako spent the next week putting her stealth, and the only seals she'd managed to get working, to, well, if not _good_ use, then at the very least a non-malicious cause.

Explosion seals and incomplete storage variations on it were the 'only seals,' but with creativity one can do quite a lot with modified explosions.

Creativity was not something she lacked, evident as an expanding ring of fog within her visualized mind, from which small, vibrantly colorful sparks could occasionally be seen being emitted.

If there was anyone around to see it, of course.

Which, judging by the dark velvet drape veiling the stage of Shika's mind, cutting off the linking bridge over swirling not-quicksilver not-waters, there wasn't.

Distant, peaceful bleats of sheep, however, infrequently echoed across from behind the 'Do Not Disturb'-embossed curtain.

Shika woke up, once, surfacing to let his mental avatar stroll across the bridge and make light prods of inquiry.

Then he immediately woke up physically, relocated his messy, comfortably nest of blankets and pillows to be the corner furthest from the hallways, and dropped back into the lulling ocean warmth of dreams.

.

The Espada were not nearly as amused as Kako was when they walked into the corridors one ordinary day, only to be promptly showered with explosions of shiny tinsel and red-green glitter, neatly giftwrapped presents plopping innocently onto their thoroughly festive heads like a taunt, the individually reiryoku-keyed incomplete storage seals exploding too fast and with too much impersonal intent or too little matter to be counted subconsciously as a threat and dodged.

 _Nobody_ expects the Sparkly Intervention.

But Baraggan warily accepted the crown of strangely shiny gold (unaware that it was actually a gold foil-covered plastic prop crown with glass gems), Aaroniero was pleased to finally receive a suitable replacement for the lost glove he'd never been returned, and Nelliel cooed over the first-edition signed copy of her favorite classic romance.

(One which Kako shamelessly had abused her invisibility and willful intangibility to steal from the library of some rich tycoon who'd probably never read or will read it; a book unread is a book wasted, so really, she was doing everyone a _favor_ by stealing it.)

When Tier had been calmed from her reflexive slash by her Fraccion, she examined and accepted the new hair ornaments, carved into linked, hollowed beads of caramel amber, speckled turquoise, and shimmery moonstone; she replaced her old jade chutes with dignity, and magnanimously entertained Emilou's, Franceska's, and Cyan's heartfelt compliments, even as she attempted to discreetly brush off some of the stubbornly clinging glitter, which somewhat ruined the effect of the new beads.

Zommari was unsure concerning the Do-It-Yourself Zen Rock Garden Kit, which consisted of a tubful of quite heavy rocks, a slightly battered hand-rake, and a piece of paper upon which was printed the words, 'Think Zen.'

However, after getting up from being knocked sideways by a tubful of quite heavy rocks landing on his head, he gamely gave it a try, and found his meditations much improved in concentration when he was concentrated on smashing particularly frustrating rocks against his walls.

(The most frustrating-to-rake rock, an oddly lumpy, nigh-indestructible piece of granite which glinted silver flecks smugly, he named 'Gin,' and derived particularly intense concentration out of trying to smash _that_ particular rock.

He hadn't quite gotten to using reiatsu yet, but he was getting there.

It was just a matter of time, patience, and how much tea Aizen had made them all drink at the last Espada gathering.)

A biography of Saint Teresa, alternatively 'Santa Teresa,' was dedicated to Nnoitra, while Szayel, who garnered a gift purely based on Kako's affection for pink hair, received a book discussing ethics in the scientific field, specifically medical experiments.

(Her reasoning being thus: if Szayel was an irredeemably amoral 'mad scientist' already, then at least he would get a laugh out of scribbling derisive, mocking remarks and counterarguments into the margins.

Which was why she also, most helpfully, included a writing utensil in the form of a pen taped to the front cover.)

Grimmjow, for the hell of it, got teeth whiteners and heavy-duty nail files, marked with the prowling panther ensign of the company, which had something like 'Kitty-Cat Claws' as it's logo.

Because Kako wasn't an absolute troll, and because she liked her sleep, too, she also generously added a sword-polishing kit.

And because she liked winning debates, after much consideration and browsing of the Internet, she decided on series of poetry books for Ulquiorra, upon realizing that, when taking all the 'What Gift Should I Give?' online quizzes, he'd qualified as a gloomy teenager.

The poetry was dark, angsty, dramatic sort, the kind that had a black background and Gothic script, with plenty of cutesy skulls and shaky stitches and stabbed bloody hearts depicted.

She thought it to be rather passive-aggressively complaining stuff, but a large portion of it focused on metaphorical hearts, albeit the breaking and torment of them, and so had concluded it to be a good fit for him.

Random passing Arrancar frequenting the Espada-frequented hallways were simply showered in standard explosions of cheap human candy, meaning that the Fraccion mostly got something as well.

Aizen, who, as predicted, cannily evaded all of the explosions, nevertheless received a large carton of tofu and calligraphy wall-scroll that Shika had been surprisingly amenable to being awoken for advising.

It read along the lines of: 能ある鷹は爪を隠す.

 _The talented hawk hides it's claws._

Gin, who evaded most but not all explosions, and Tousen, who also evaded all explosions by virtue of avoiding the Espada quarters unless absolutely necessary, received similar presents; a crate of dried persimmons for the former, a sophisticated cookbook for the latter, and personalized wall-scrolls as well.

早い者勝ち.

 _First come, first served._

毒食わば皿まで.

 _One may as well be hanged for a sheep than a lamb._

 _._

Her twin was the easiest; for him, she was the easiest, too, although technically she was also the only one he got a present for.

They did, after all, literally read each others' minds.

(By tacit agreement, however, they had steered clear of the present ideas, materialized into mindscape representation as green boxes twice as tall as their mental avatars, topped by large, soft red bows.)

Kako proffered mackerel and kelp, played as many games of shogi as she could take, and settled down for a long, long nap, curled up back-to-back.

Shika proffered dango and onigiri, presented her with an entire written list of potential explosion seal strategies, and got ready for the next adventure she sought out.

It was a good balance, with just enough of his Yin to her Yang.


End file.
